


A Matter of Taste

by cazflibs



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Basically everything my space wife loves, Dubious gutter humour, Happy Birthday LordValeryMimes!, M/M, Tasteless sexual double entendres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: It’s been a year since Lister’s last birthday and his first kiss with Rimmer. But what does the hologram have in store for his better half’s birthday this year?





	A Matter of Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LordValeryMimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordValeryMimes/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Taste of Things to Come](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637068) by [cazflibs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs). 



> It’s been a year since I wrote ‘A Taste of Things To Come’ for my lovely space wife, LordValeryMimes’ birthday. So to mark another special day for her, I thought it would be rather fitting to revisit the boys a year on, and see what birthday hijinks they’re up to this time.

“Rimmer, man, you’ve been hiding in here all afternoon!” Lister whined as he slouched his way into the Sleeping Quarters. “I thought you said we'd be celebratin’? What the smeg are you up to?”

Clearly startled by the man’s sudden appearance, Rimmer wheeled round from the kitchenette. Thrusting guilty hands behind his back, he blinked in alarm. “Nothing!”

A knowing smile inched across Lister's cheeks as he regarded the man through one eye. “It doesn't look like nothin’ to me, y'know,” he smirked.

Feathers ruffled, Rimmer mustered the usual defences. “Well, maybe it's _nothin’_ ,” he echoed the word in his mock-Scouse accent, “to do with you, squire! So hop it.”

Lister had never made a habit of doing what he was told, and he certainly wasn't going to start now. Standing on tiptoe to try and see past the taller man's shielding attempts, he bit his lip in rodent-esque determination before simply bundling past him to a loud sigh of irritation.

Upon seeing Rimmer's secret project sat, half-decorated, on the worktop, the Scouser’s face lit up like Blackpool Illuminations. “Hey! You made me a cake again!”

“Well, it is your birthday,” Rimmer huffed, his words practically dripping with sarcasm. “That's generally the custom.”

With the snark-filter long established, Lister gleaned nothing but sweetness from the man's typically sour words. “Aww!” he gushed.

“Don't ‘aww’ me,” Rimmer bristled with a curl of the lip. “I'm not a puppy.”

“But you're cute like one!” Lister teased, ruffling the hologram's hair until the curls sprung out in fellow rebellion with their liberator. 

Hands messily preoccupied with a dusting of icing sugar and smears of chocolate, Rimmer growled irritably before attempting to smooth down his hair with his sleeve instead. “I’d return the favour,” he reprimanded, waggling his fingers threateningly in indication, “if I didn't already know that it wouldn't bother you in the slightest.”

Hands thrust in his pockets, Lister shrugged with a lop-sided smile. Life was way too short to worry about appearances. “Well, how about givin’ us somethin’ sweet to sample, eh?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Then maybe some cake after that.”

Rimmer couldn't help but snort his amusement at the cheap line. “Oh, you charmer,” he replied, granting the man a loving kiss that lingered then deepened with a shared happy hum.

Sniggering, Lister plucked himself away as he rolled the taste of Rimmer’s tongue around his mouth. “Well _someone's_ been enjoyin’ some chef's perks again!”

“Oh bog off,” Rimmer frowned, blushing. “You're not my mother.”

“Too smeggin’ right,” Lister agreed with a shudder. Dark eyes skipped across the array of cake decorations until they snagged upon a particular bowl with a gasp. “Are they - ?!”

Returning to his task, Rimmer gave a cocky tilt of the head. “Yes indeedy.”

An astonished chuckle spluttered past Lister's lips. “But how did you manage to get Cadbury’s Buttons, three million years into deep space?!”

Rimmer grinned with deserved smugness. “I have my ways,” he smarmed. Ways which included searching countless derelicts over the last 12 months for the man's beloved chocolate treat.

“Oh, _man_ ,” Lister sighed happily. “I haven't had these in - ” the hand that had slipped towards the bowl quickly snapped back at the reprimanding smack. “ - ow, hey! I was only lookin’!”

“You look with your eyes, not with your fingers.”

Lister tutted. “Spoilsport.”

Leaning against the worktop to watch Rimmer add the prized additions, Lister’s gaze raked across the man's features as they twitched in concentration. Feeling that familiar warmth stir in his gut, he blushed at the sudden flurry of fantasies that flashed across his mind’s eye like a flipbook. It was funny how much of a turn on an unexpected romantic gesture could be.

However, that fire was somewhat quenched when Rimmer drew forth a speaking spirit level and crouched down to fastidiously check the decoration positioning. Lister rolled his eyes. Okay, that was slightly less romantic.

“How about you take a break from the cake decoratin’, eh?” he soothed, rubbing a hand against Rimmer's back.

 _‘Level.’_ “This is rather important.”

“ - and I'm super grateful. Honest. But - ” _‘Level.’_ Lister sighed despairingly before switching tactics. “ - maybe I could _show_ you how grateful I am, hmm?” he whispered suggestively.

A flustered flare of the nostrils showed that the coded proposal hadn't been missed. “As nice an offer as that is,” came the terse reply as he stood once more, “I'm a tad busy, if you hadn't already noticed.”

Arms snaking around the man’s waist as he worked, Lister left a trail of lingering kisses between Rimmer's shoulder blades. “Come ooooon,” he urged, words muffled into the sheen of his uniform. 

“It's called ‘patience’, Listy,” the hologram muttered distractedly as he continued to line up the chocolate buttons on the cake with pinpoint accuracy. “Perhaps you could pass the time by looking it up in the dictionary.”

With a cheeky nibble on his lip, Lister's hand slipped down to the man's crotch for a fondle. “Any chance it's next to ‘pe-?”

“NO.”

“Owwwh!” Lister's sulking cry was of a man denied a tad more than cake. Pouting, his gaze tracked across the array of decorations still sat in wait on the counter. “Well, how about I help?”

“You can ‘help’ by giving me five minutes’ peace,” Rimmer replied firmly.

“Yeah, but the quicker you're _done_ \- ” Lister’s elbow drove the point home with a dig in the ribs, “ - the quicker the _fun_.”

Rimmer arched an eyebrow. “A poet of such calibre.”

Plucking up the discarded piping bag of white chocolate icing, Lister tossed it from hand to hand before gesturing with it merrily. “So, how about I add a few finishin’ touches?”

Hazel eyes widened in alarm. “Lister!” 

“Come ooon!” he needled, grinning. “Besides, more is more when it comes to icing, right?”

“No! I mean, don't squeeze it from the - !”

The inevitable explosion of icing was rather impressive; spattering the hologram from curls to shoulders in white globules.

In the silence that followed, Rimmer blinked sullenly. “ - middle.”

Biting back a smirk, solicitous eyes traced up and down the hologram's now-dripping features. “That look suits you, y'know,” Lister teased.

Clocking the unimpressed scowl, Lister planted a soothing kiss on the man's sticky mouth before gently sucking the stray icing from Rimmer's top lip. “Mmm - ” he hummed in intrigue, pressing his body against that stiff frame. “Maybe a taste of what's to come tonight, eh?”

Rimmer released a despairing yet distinctly heated sigh. “You are utterly disgusting. You know that, don't you?”

“And you smeggin’ love it.” Lister flashed back a wink.

Despite an eye roll for appearances, it was decidedly tricky to appear nonchalant when faced with the cherubic cheekiness of a man sucking innocently on his own now-sugary lower lip. “Only you would be capable of becoming even _less_ mature with age.” 

Lister stuck out his tongue in defiance. Whether this countered or evidenced the accusation was perhaps another matter. “Just ‘cos I'm a year _older_ , doesn't mean I have to be a year _wiser_ ,” he surmised with a snigger.


End file.
